So, it’s over 80 degrees and BEYOND muggy here today, which would be perfectly fine with me if the air conditioner at my apartment wasn’t fucking broken. Apparently I have to wait until Monday for it to get fixed — which REALLY pisses me off, the bullshit icing on this sweat-drenched cake. Being stuck in an unbearably stuffy hellhole apartment all day has put me in a real nasty mood to say the least. But luckily, I think I have found some silver lining in this whole sweltering hot mess.

While sitting here in a sticky puddle of my sweat (the only relief for my agony being a tiny, mostly useless desk fan)  I suddenly had a GREAT idea for how I could convey my frustration with the situation to my landlord . . . make him really FEEL the burn too, you know?

A balding, beer gut-ted,unimpressive bumbling fool who talks too much — and is incapable of taking a hint or reading my CLEAR body language that I’m not interested and couldn’t give a fuck less — I’ve always found him irritating at best. Usually I wouldn’t think twice about him or his forgettable, ugly face ever — but today my heat-addled mind just couldn’t stop fantasizing about what I wished I could do to make him pay! Like maybe I’d give him this special surprise the next time he comes to make his monthly furnace filter-changing rounds . . .

Naturally, I’d exploit his boring middle-aged man Achilles heel with the classic “Can I get you a beer, hun?” move, knowing full well he’s accept and guzzle it down his greedy, foul gullet right away. Little would he know that I’d fixed his drink with a heavy dose of sedatives!

He would be SO confused when he came to . . . not just because he’d find himself laying on the floor, ball-gagged, naked and hog-tied at my feet — but because his pathetic disappointment of an existence would undoubtedly make him a total stranger to wax play, one of my all-time FAVORITE activities under the magical umbrella that is CBT!

I’d laugh as I slowly dripped the wax from the candle I’d been burning for hours onto his squirming body. I’d watch him writhe in pain (but mostly shock), listen to him beg me to stop through his gag. Maybe I’d explain my motivation for his torture, maybe I wouldn’t — either way I’d enjoy watching the look of terror in his eyes as I dripped that entire candle’s worth of melted wax all over his hideous, limp dick!

Think you could take the fetish heat? I’m sure my loser landlord couldn’t . . . he can’t even fix a fucking air conditioner!



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